Chaos and Destiny
by Orion Kohaishu
Summary: Theirs was a love born equally in chaos as it was in the hands of fate.  Collection of short stories focusing on the Cousland/Alistair relationship.
1. Beginning

**Chaos and Destiny**

By Orion Kohaishu

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SO. To try and get me writing again, my friend sent me a list of 75 words and told me to have at it. There will be 75 short chapters, 1000 words maximum, and with only the vague continuity of taking place in my Warden's lifetime. They jump back and forth in time and all around in place, but they all revolve around my Warden.

Game Stats: Human Noble. Warrior. Double Weapon Fighting. Reckless Melee Fighter. Willingly joined Wardens. Did not put Alistair on the throne. Romance with Alistair. The phrase "OH GOD, I AM SUCH A GOOD PERSON" was frequently said with varying inflections throughout the course of the game (Paragon).

Yes. I frequently ignore game dialogue and write my own, and I only keep to the loose storyline of the game. Why? First off, my Cousland is a feisty little bitch and none of the dialogue options ever fit. Secondly, this is my story. If you want 100% Bioware accuracy, close the internet and go open Steam. Butnotreally.

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**01. Beginning**

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They'd been smitten from their first meeting.

Eyes still haunted by loss, she'd sought the older Warden as Duncan had instructed. Winding her way through camp, the colors and heralds of a nation gathering to war began to bleed together into chaos. Noise, colors, a press of people and animals and she quickly turned direction and headed for the ruins to the edge of camp. There, past the war council, was the only other Warden shield she'd seen.

He was younger than she'd expected. Warmer. Not a grizzled old veteran like Duncan, but tall and broad and golden. He was the sun. Vibrant, vivid energy bound into human form. His hands moved animatedly through the air, gestures becoming larger as his volume grew, as he argued with the mage.

They'd ended and the mage stormed off, pushing past her and nearly knocking her over. She frowned.

He made some quip about togetherness, just to see her smile - _But Maker, _he breathed, _she's beautiful._ - and decided in that moment that any course of action leading again to her smiling would be a course well worth taking. He pressed further, sly smirk crossing his face and one eyebrow arching quizzically. "I didn't know they let women in the Grey Wardens."

A second ticked by, no more. "They let you in, didn't they?" Another second and the retort registered.

He threw his head back and laughed, really laughed, eyes crinkling with mirth. He was suddenly even younger then, a little boy, tossing his head and laughing with pure, unbridled joviality. His golden hair and shining armor caught the sun just so, and he was a shining beacon. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

By the time he'd calmed enough to reopen his eyes she'd regained character: cool grey eyes slanted at him just so, and a perfect dark chocolate eyebrow raised delicately. Still beaming, white teeth shining and sparkling along with the rest of him, he met her gaze; she feigned disinterest.

It was in that moment, that single pivotal moment that Alistair found himself speechless for the first time in his life. He was a quick wit with a quick tongue, a scrawny youth who had scraped by on verbal sparring until he'd grown into his own frame; it was a rare soul who could keep up with him, and one rarer still who could best him. And yet here he was, finally struck down on his own battlefield by a petite brunette who barely stood as high as his shoulder. He was in awe of her.

In that moment her guard was down, and one of those blessed smiles began to creep its way across her face. "You're Alistair, then?" She sounded almost shy now. "Duncan sent me to-"

"Collect me, yes." He cursed himself for stammering. "I suppose we've much to do, then. Foes to slay, the world to save, and all that." He dropped an impromptu curtsey, extending an arm upon regaining his feet beneath him. "Shall we, Ser Warden? We've a mighty fate to meet." His voice was deadly serious again, their characters revisited.

She took the proffered arm, matching his gravity with a courtly bow from the waist. "Indeed, Lady Knight. To our destiny."

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**Words: 541**

Did Alistair inexplicably become a sparkly golden god? Yes. Yes he did. Why? Because Elissa Cousland is a sheltered noblewoman suddenly experiencing the first crush of her young life. He's her Prince Charming: witty, charming, a knight, a gentleman. She's got the fluttery butterflies of idealism in her tummy. I see their love as beginning in something so entirely sweet and innocent, maturing as they do over time.

So yeah, the "love at first site" of their meeting is a bit cheesy. But hey. Alistair loves cheese.


	2. Threat

**02. Threat**

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The air was thick on the night of her Joining.

Following Duncan to the site of the ceremony, she'd found her steps growing heavier and heavier, each requiring more energy than the last. She'd nearly had to fight with her body to travel the short distance.

Every fiber in her being was screaming danger. Every nerve on high alert, her common sense urging her to turn, to run, to head for anywhere else but this circle of archaic magics and secret spells.

There was something _else_ that gathered with them that night, something mysterious and ancient. Something terrible.

With every last ounce of resolve she forced herself to face down the something that menaced their clandestine ritual, to quell the tremors that wracked her body and the stomach that threatened to rid itself of what little she'd eaten that day.

She awoke on the ground, wracked with pain and power and the presence, Alistair and Duncan hovering in and out of her vision as the world swam around them. The _something_ was still there, curled around the back of her mind where it lay purring like a housecat. She felt it slithering through her blood, icy chills in the very depths of her, gnarled fingers taking root in places she'd hardly known she had.

She realized only then, too late, that the threat she'd been feeling was not from the Joining, but from the life that awaited her on the other side.

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**Words: 242**

Short note: Let's be honest here. Being a Warden SUCKS. Seriously, can you talk about drawing the shortest straw life had to offer? Sheesh. :)


	3. Regret

**03. Regret**

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The magnitude of the tragedy unfolding beneath them could hardly be measured.

Flush with the adrenaline of overcoming great odds, the taste of victory teasingly just out of reach, they'd taken the final flight of steps at a dead sprint; weariness was forgotten. She'd exhaled heavily, a half-choked laugh that they, the pair of half-trained young pups in borrowed armor, had made it this far with spitfire determination and blind luck. One more step. One final door. Light the beacon. End this battle.

They'd hardly paused to catch their breath, but had exchanged quick words. "We did it," he'd said, smiling. He'd believed wholeheartedly in the King's promise of victory; she'd been more skeptical, sensing Duncan's nearly hidden apprehension, but had to admit that Alistair's faith had been contagious. By the time they'd reached the final level of the tower, she'd been convinced that the battle had been won. With a gracious nod to her stature, he'd leveled his shoulder at the door, cracking it inward. They'd burst through together, skidding to a hasty stop and nearly bringing the other down in a heap.

The ogre bellowed. Fetid breath had nearly brought her to her knees, but she summoned the last reserves of strength to keep her footing. Together, barely, they'd brought the creature down.

Together, they'd lit the beacon.

And together, they'd watched the armies abandon their king.

He sobbed low in his throat, and she grabbed his arm in restraint to keep him from going over the railing as he lunged forward, yelling threats and curses into the air where they were promptly lost in the chaos of battle. Though she could hardly distinguish the identities of those below them, she could not help but give names, faces, to the human after human she watched cut down: Gavin, the light-hearted youth from Denerim who'd flirted with her over the campfire the night before. Mhalia, the stern older soldier from Redcliffe who had good-naturedly ribbed the Wardens as some of the greenest warriors in the army.

Duncan, the gruff Commander who had helped her escape the attack on her parents' estate. The man, haunted by duty, who had apologized to the man he'd run through for refusing the Joining. The man who'd come to Alistair when no one else had, given him a path. A choice. A chance.

Cailan, the young king the nation adored. He'd passed among his troops the night before the battle, stopping at fires for a drink or a tale, forgoing title and station to join his men. They'd loved him, all of them.

Tears streaming down her face, she watched as one by one the people of Fereldan were brought down. Comrades. Friends. Hundreds of her peers left to die on a frozen field by one of their own. "We should have been there," she hissed, her knuckles cracking painfully with the force of her clenched fists. "We should have been with them."

Her only answer was a moan, something nearly animalistic, as her companion suck to the floor in despair. She sagged against him. They were defeated.

Neither put up a fight as the horde began streaming through the door, overtaking them. They hardly noticed. They sat and watched the slaughter of their people below them and, with a single thought, they wished that they had been with them.

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**Words: 556**

I hate this chapter.


End file.
